Dust to Dust
by Keketra
Summary: We cannot all live a fairytale life... Rated T for mature themes and violence in later chapters
1. Prologue

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis**

_**Prologue**_

I fix him a watery smile. He can see straight through it and knows all it suggests. One thing is clear to us both though. As my youngest brother wraps his arm around our older brother's shoulder and pulls him into a hug, Peter's fate only seems all the more doomed at this rare display of affection. Lucy, the youngest of us all, looks close to tears, and part of me is surprised she isn't already crying. Peter takes one look at her before pulling her into his arms, excluding me from the group hug, unintentionally.

After a moment he turns pleading blue eyes to meet my brown ones. I duck my head, pretending not to see the look. "You won't forget to write, will you?" Edmund suddenly asks. Peter turns to him, still wrapped in the embrace with his youngest siblings.

"Of course I won't." He reassures Edmund. Edmund nods, satisfied. Our elder brother has yet to break a promise – and only death will keep him from breaking this one. I know we are all silently praying that that will never happen. Peter turns back to me, once more with that pleading look. One arm wrapped around Edmund and Lucy, the other reaching out for me. "Please Sue." He says, and my heart almost breaks. The façade almost drops, before I pull myself together.

"You should go, Peter. They're waiting for you." Silence. Peter drops his hand and Edmund and Lu move nearer towards him, almost as though they think they can do what I cannot and keep our brother from leaving us. I attempt to make things right. "You'll be back before Christmas, Pete." My voice finds its way through my mouth and, judging by the looks on my family's faces, they are as shocked as I am at my words. '_Home by Christmas' _… how many have promised that? I close my eyes against their accusing stares. This is NOT how I envisioned today. I though I might finally be able to forgive and forget all the hurt that has passed between Peter and I, but it seems I'm still clinging to it.

Peter is holding a hand out to me – one last time – and I can't even bring myself to acknowledge it. He can forgive every word I have said, every name I have called him, so why can't I do the same for him? If ever there was a time for forgiveness… now would be it. Who knows if I'll ever see Peter again after this? But then, he was always able to forgive everything easier than anyone else. Hasn't that always been the way with our family? Peter wasn't named 'Peter the Magnificent' for nothing.

The hand is still extended, but I loathe to be pulled into that acceptance. Peter meets my eyes, and suddenly he seems so, so much younger than he really is. For a split second, he is the Peter who used to crawl into bed besides me after nightmares when we were both small. I close my eyes, and open them, the moment destroyed. He ducks his head, swallowing. I go to speak when the sound of a horn blasts through the air, cutting each of us in half.

We all flinch, Ed and Lu move closer to Peter and he takes deep breaths. I can tell he's trying to be strong, trying not to break down, barely holding it together. I know what he's thinking. He thinks, as do I, that he will not make it through this. Edmund wraps an arm around Peter's shoulders, walking slowly outside. I can't help but think how very much like a funeral procession this all seems. Edmund leads Peter to his fate and Lucy and I are the mourners.

I watch numbly as Peter turns to us, and hugs Lucy and Edmund before turning to me, enveloping me in a hug before I can push him away. The icy shell is broken, and I sob into his shoulder. The horn honks again. "Be safe." I whisper, and he manages a small smile before pulling away gently and getting into the cab. Lucy and Edmund yell their goodbyes as the cab disappears from sight and all I can do is watch as my brother is led to war.

**A/N: Prologue complete, so what do you think? Love it? hate it? Should I drop it or continue? I have quite a few ideas for this so please let me know!  
**


	2. From Hell

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis. I just like making Peter's life a living hell… oh, and there's a line from the film "King Arthur", see if you can guess which one! Cookies for anyone who can :)  
**

**Chapter One**

_**Three years later…**_

The cab dropped him off, and he stared at the house, numb. He knew how he was supposed to feel; yet all those emotions felt… false. Unimportant. The sound of guns still rang in his ears and he found himself wondering exactly what he was fighting for. For, looking up at this… building… Peter Pevensie began to question everything he'd ever known to be true; as if he hadn't done that enough already. Being in the trenches… it had given him a whole perspective on life he didn't know existed. He was almost scared at how much he'd changed since he'd first left.

In his mind's eye he saw a scene that constantly haunted him; his best friend in the army screaming at him to get down and diving in front of him… only to be shot down seconds later. Peter shuddered. He was so different now; would his family even recognise him? He looked in the mirror and he couldn't recognise himself anymore. Who was this man with harsh, ragged features and cold eyes? What had happened to the young boy who had first gone to war, full of energy, optimism and thirst for knowledge?

Peter remembered the first time he'd ever seen anyone shot down. It was fine; he thought, when it was someone dying from an illness, well, no, it wasn't _fine, _but you could accept it. Watching someone get killed right in front of your eyes in cold blood… now that was _not_ fine. He had fought countless battles in Narnia, but none of them had seemed as cruel and vicious as this battle. They had seemed… _elegant_ somehow, however sadistic that may seem. But their weapons were used at close quarters; you died with _honour_, with _recognition_. At the end of the day, in Narnia, if you died for your country, your body wasn't just piled up amongst others and tossed aside as one of the rabble.

He supposed he was lucky he'd survived that long, long enough to be _able_ to come home. But somehow… home didn't _feel_ like home. He didn't recognise the street, the neighbours, not even his own _house._ Something stirred at the pit of Peter's stomach and he wondered if he'd even recognise his own family, and how they would cope if he couldn't.

Looking around, he saw people coming out of their houses, curious whispers starting up. No doubt they were wondering who he was. A young boy ran up to him. "Did you come from the war?!" he asked excitedly. Peter stared down at the young child, almost hating him for his innocence, the innocence that had been so quickly ripped away from Peter himself.

"From hell." He answered, and the child backed away, confused. Peter raised a hand to the door and gave three quiet taps. The whispers around him only grew louder, and he knew they were trying to figure out who he was. He kept his eyes on the door. Hearing footsteps from inside, he took a breath, preparing himself for the shock. The door opened, and he found himself staring at his youngest sister. "Lu?"

* * *

Lucy stared at the stranger in army uniform, utterly confused. Her first thoughts when she'd seen him from the window was that he'd come to tell her that Peter was dead… that somehow he hadn't survived. But the name… she blinked twice, trying to place him. He looked so, _so _familiar… but where…?

"Lucy… it's me… Peter." Her eyes widened. NO. This could _not_ be her brother. She had expected him to be different, but… _this_? Lucy swallowed and backed up. The man stretched out a hand, before letting it drop back to his side helplessly. "Lu…" he swallowed, and she could tell he was fighting back tears. If this really _was_ her brother… she couldn't imagine the horrors he'd been through. He was so, so different from how she remembered him. Even though she knew memories changed (after all, it had been three years), and she'd be the first to admit they'd epitomised Peter somewhat after he'd left, turning him into a hero, just as a way of coping with the loss of him, she could never imagine her brother would be this changed.

"P… Peter?" She started, confused. "I…" she swallowed. "You look…" she shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him. "Um…" Peter's shoulders seemed to sag, and Lucy swallowed, hating to cause him the pain it was so obvious **she** was causing him. She reached out, only to shake her head. "I… I should get my sister, sir…" she whispered, confused and scared.

The sadness in Peter's eyes only grew. "Am I really that unrecognisable?" He asked quietly. Lucy bit her lip and swallowed.

"I'll return shortly…" she promised, before racing off to find Susan. Moments later, Susan appeared, her arm wrapped around Lucy's shoulder.

"Su…" he said softly, praying she'd remember him. She stepped back, confused. "Susan… _please_…" he choked back tears. This was too much. How long was it going to take to convince his family of who he was? Not a day went by when he didn't think of them… had he really changed so much??

"May I help you?" she asked, pulling Lucy nearer. Peter almost broke down, but struggled to stay strong. He opened his small backpack and passed her the photo of the four of them smiling, and Susan's eyes widened, her mouth forming an _o._ "Wh… where did you… get this…" she asked, forcing back tears. "Where is my brother?!" she looked up at him, her eyes burning fire.

Peter clamped down hard on his emotions. "He's right before your eyes." He said quietly. He met her gaze, trying to find some sense of recognition in them. Blank brown eyes and he remembered the hate he'd seen there the last time… hate at _him _for leaving. He swallowed back tears, continuing to hold her gaze; desperate to feel some… _connection _to his family. Finally, something dawned on her face and he saw it through her eyes.

"_Peter?!"_ she flung herself at him, and Peter almost keeled over. He didn't care though – he was home. He was finally home… Wrapping his arms around his sister, he began to sob, his body shaking with the impact. Soon Susan was crying with him, and he felt Lucy wrap her arms around the two. "Oh god… Peter…" Susan choked on her tears, burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. "We… we thought…" she shook her head and let out the tears as Peter held her.

"I'm home now…" he choked, tightening his grip on her. "I'm home…"

**A/N: Okay… first chapter up. You know what to do:P **


	3. Gentle Whispers

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis.**

**A/N:**

FlyingFaeriesDance**: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it, I was worried Peter might be musing a little too much, but I'm glad you think I've captured it well :) I decided to have Susan be the one to recognise Peter because I wanted tension for Lucy…**

Outlawauthor**: yay! Glad you like it!!! **

SarahsTwilight: **Well what can I say? I kept Peter alive, at least… that's got to count for something, right?**

**Chapter Two**

I can see them from where I sit at this window. It's the window I always used to sit at, but since the last time I was here I look out with different eyes. No longer does the world enthral me; I have seen its evils. Looking out at my siblings, I can only pray that they will never have to endure what I have. I don't think they could survive. I'm still not sure how I managed.

I had a nightmare last night. Not much, to some, but to me… and my poor family… I know which one without even trying to remember. It's always the same one. The very first person I killed. I see him constantly… see his body falling as though in slow motion. His eyes are wide – dear god, why are their eyes always open when they die – and the look he gives me is pleading. Two words are enough to make me nearly lose my resolve. _Spare me._ I am sure I must have at least _thought _that at least once during the battle, though I can't recall it. But I'm not noble enough, _magnificent _enough not to have asked to be spared at some moment. I opened my eyes to find Susan and Edmund bent over me, eyes wide and terrified. I tried to convince them that I was fine, everything was fine, but I don't think they brought it. I know _I _wouldn't.

I look around at this house… _my home_… and it disgusts me. How can we live in such… luxury when so many are in poverty? I breached that question to mother once… she stared at me blankly, uncomprehending. I guess she takes things for granted as they all do. Though I mustn't judge too harshly. For I know that I once was like them, and it was only the spoils of war that changed me. So perhaps in some, sick, twisted way it was good that I went. Though no one should have to fight in that.

They were so happy when I came home, their eyes bright with expectation. Life would just continue as it had before I left. But what they forgot – whether by choice or chance – was that a person cannot experience all I have and just continue being the person they were before the horrors began. Something's you do not know you had until they are gone.

A bed is such a luxury – to have one after experiencing war… when I know there are hundreds of men – _soldiers_ – lying, terrified, in the trenches, being ordered to sleep lest they pass out from exhaustion… afraid they'd never wake. My siblings cannot understand me – this version of me – or the sudden respect I show for everything, living or made. Living without makes you more wary and appreciative of living with.

When I first returned, Lucy would run to my arms for a hug at least twice a day, if not more, as though to reassure herself I was still here. A month has passed and now she shrinks from my touch. I guess I lack the love I used to hold for her. What she does not realise is that I lack everything… every emotion that should come so easily to me seems forced. But Lucy, little Lucy, as I used to think of her so fondly, will know nothing of this, nor will the others. I see the fear in her eyes, it is the same fear I know the others feel. I look at my hands – to me they are always bathed in blood. I can wash them all I like but the blood of the people I killed still haunt me.

The worst of all is mother, for though she tries to understand, I know she never will. It is ridiculous to expect her to try. But her pitied looks and loving embrace only seem to push me back further into the darkness, into the darkest corner of my mind where hopefully I can reside for the rest of my darkened life.

I know mother is scared. She has lost one man, her husband, to the spoils of war, and she daren't lose another. So she tries to save me. But how can I tell her that I cannot be saved? She is determined to help me, but her help is only pushing me away. I am not the Peter she knew before I left. The old ways don't work with me now. Guilt is weighing heavily on my shoulders; I can't just shrug it off. Not now, not ever.

Gentle whispers are luring me to my grave, oh, so slowly, but I loathe to follow them. I am home... surely I can stay in this world long enough to feel... something? My friends call to me from their graves, those who I lost in the war, but I turn a deaf ear to their cries of justice. I cannot listen, or I'll fall, so far I won't be able to climb my way back up.

**A/N: okay, what do you think? Love it, hate it? **


	4. Who I Was

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis. **

**A/N: okay, okay, I know that's two chapters in the space of a day. But I had this idea in my head and went with it. **

**FlyingFaeriesDance: thank you!!! Yes, poor Peter is in a very, very dark place right now….**

**Outlaw author: yay! Thank you so much! As you can probably guess I didn't want to completely ruin the story with that chapter, so I wrote it (and rewrote it!) at least five times. I'm glad you like it… I hope the next one will live up to your expectations as well :) **

**Chapter Four**

"What was it like, fighting in the war, Pete?" Peter looked up from his plate; fork halfway to his mouth as he met Edmund's eyes. He put the fork down slowly, as the table grew silent. He supposed he should have expected it; curiosity was bound to get the better of them sooner or later. He'd just hoped it would be later. "Pete?" there was an edge of nervousness to Edmund's voice and Peter sighed.

He turned tortured, dead eyes to meet bright young ones. "Imagine the worst horror film you've ever watched," he began, a bright anger suddenly fuelling. "And then imagine all the war films you've ever seen and rip them apart. Take away everything noble and majestic you could possibly think of until all you're left with is grief, pain, blood and endless fighting." Four pairs of eyes were trained on him now, and Peter could see the sick fascination in each of them. His stomach turned. _Is this truly a game to them? How can they so blithely wisp away my words as if they were nothing but a horror story they'd longed to read for years?!_ "Even _that_ does not justify war, Ed. It's harsh and cold. You live every day knowing you might be the next carcass on the pile, and you accept it because you have no other choice. He met his mother's eyes, bright with unshed tears. No doubt, he thought, for the innocence so quickly stolen from him. He shook his head; if there was one thing all the soldiers (including himself) had hated, it was the pity they saw in the eyes that met theirs as they were led off to their fate. They might as well have had a death march going, for all the luck those looks gave.

"War is not a game; people die every single second, on both sides. There is no 'good' or 'bad'. No black and white, no 'enemy' or 'friend'. We are all simply men, trying to stay alive. You kill because if you don't then you will _be_ killed. Hesitate and you might find yourself with a bullet in your head." Susan gave a sharp breath but Peter carried on, determined to get it into his siblings' heads. "You never know who is next, and when it happens, there is no reversal. There is no escape, no…" he slid his gaze over the shocked faces of his siblings before meeting his youngest sister's eyes. "Magic potion to bring them back." Silence. Peter stood up, posture stiff as he turned steely eyes to meet his mothers. "May I be excused?" Their mother nodded, too dumbstruck to do anything else and they all followed Peter's form as he left the room, struck with shock at his words.

BR 

Helen Pevensie moved upstairs and made her way to Peter's room quietly, knocking timidly on the door. Her oldest son's speech had scared her, shown her exactly how much Peter had changed. She worried for him, terrified that his experience of war would keep him seated in the past; refusing to let him move on. She'd read of plenty of cases where soldiers returned, but none when they'd been this… impassioned. Hearing no noise from inside, Helen bit her lip and slowly opened the door. "Peter?" she asked quietly.

Helen came into the room to see Peter lying on his bed, facing away from the door. For a moment she almost left the room; convinced he was asleep, until she saw his body was shaking silently. "Oh Peter…" her heart broke for her son and she hurried to his side, kneeling next to the bed and gently stroking his hair, surprised when he didn't flinch away. "Shhh… shhh…"

She moved up and sat on the bed as Peter turned, crawling into her lap and letting out his tears. "Why didn't I die?" He asked in between sobs, and Helen froze. Peter had _not_ just asked that.

"Don't ever ask that again." She said in a soft but stern tone, and bit her lip as Peter stiffened. She sighed. "You didn't die because it wasn't your time, Peter… and I'm so, so glad…" she stroked his hair gently as he sobbed.

"But I…"

"No." Helen dropped a kiss on his forehead, struggling to keep her own tears back. _Oh Peter, what happened to you out there?_ She wondered.

"It's so hard…" he whispered, shaking. Helen closed her eyes, pulling him closer as he shuffled nearer to her, desperately seeking comfort. "I'm falling, mother. So far I don't know if I can…" he swallowed back tears. "Parts of me are flaking off a little bit at a time, and it's so agonisingly slow… I'll _never_ be who I once was, but I keep fighting all the same. I can't hold onto myself anymore than you can. I can't hold on to who I was." He closed his eyes. "If I fall I'm scared I'll bring everyone else down with me. I can't stop this…" his voice cracked. "I'm so tired of fighting…"

"Peter, I'm so proud of you…" his mother said, as Peter slowly sat up, his eyes meeting hers, confused.

"_Why_?"

"Because you made it through. Because I know, deep down inside, that you're still the Peter we all love and respect."

Peter let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "Respect? Why would anyone respect _me?_ I killed, mum… I…"

"Hush…" she tried to calm her son, biting her lip. "Peter, you said yourself earlier that if you hadn't killed, you would have _been_ killed."

"So what makes it right for me to make the choice of who meets their maker next?!" Peter argued, and Helen sighed. Something told her she wasn't going to win this argument.

"Peter… dear, listen to me. Please." She put a hand against Peter's cheek, turning her son's face to look at her. "I know you're angry, and scared, and … everything else," Peter snorted slightly. "But you have to listen to me. Listen to your mother. You are not who I know you think you are. You are _not_ a murderer. I know out there it is harsh and cold and I know that you hate each and every one of us here in Finchley for not knowing how you suffered, how you and every other soldier suffered. But… you need to think of it like this. You survived. Don't go dissecting something like this because you can't understand how you can be alive. Don't go tearing yourself apart because there are three people downstairs who all need you, and right now, who are all very confused and hurt." She hugged him tightly.

"How do you know I won't pull them down as well as myself, mum?" he asked softly, tears still in his eyes.

"Because it's you, Pete." She gave the smallest of smiles, kissing her son on the forehead. "Try to get some sleep." She said quietly, helping him lay down before leaving the room, turning off the light.

Peter sat in the darkness, swallowing back fear. Despair pulled at him; his mother didn't understand what was going on. How could she? Just now had proved that, hadn't it? _Go to sleep…_ as though it were so, so easy for him to do it. But no… Peter never wanted to sleep again. If he slept, the nightmares would come. If he slept, he might never wake up.

**A/N: okay, what do you think? Love it, hate it? Was the first bit too strong, or just right? Criticism is good, as long as it's constructive!!! You know what to do! ;) **


	5. The Tortures Of Your Mind

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis.**

**A/N: to my **_**only**_** reviewer, **outlaw author** thank you!! Yes, Peter is very different from the rest of his family now, and he resents them for their innocence… I hope you enjoy this chapter :-)**

**Chapter Five**

Peter has lost his way. We can all see that, and yet we do nothing. Even I do nothing. I should have gone to him that night, after dinner. _I _should have comforted him, let him know that we three were there for him, that he was not completely alone in this world. Perhaps reminded him of all that was good. But I didn't. The change in my brother had scared me, shocked me into complete silence. I couldn't think of a single word of comfort for either my older brother who was so locked up in his grief and self-loathing I don't think he would have heard me either way, or our siblings, who were still spinning with confusion. They didn't understand; how could they? Edmund had faced war, yes. He'd faced terrible hatred in the form of the Witch Jadis, but Narnian wars are so, so different to any in this land. I wonder whether Peter forgot that factor when he signed up.

Most days, if I happen to meet his eyes, I cannot read him. He's shut himself off from us all; completely, to the point of numbness. So as I slowly make my way upstairs, part of me is shrieking in protest at what I am about to do. But I know I have to do _something_. After we came back from Narnia the second time, when Aslan told us we wouldn't be able to return any more, I was the one who could get Peter out of his dazed state. He would sit outside, come rain, hail or thunder, staring into the empty void before him.

Something tells me he is there yet again. That same something tells me he needs a safety rope, and fast. I knock on his door; perhaps foolishly, for I know I shan't receive an answer. He long stopped talking to us. After a few seconds I try again. "Peter, let me in. It's Susan." My voice comes out with a hard edge, and I involuntarily flinch, flashing back to his leaving; how harsh I had been with him then. Damn it, _why_ couldn't I let the past lay to rest?! My brother needed me, and still my subconscious refused to yield. I shake away my thoughts for now and slowly open the door to move inside, my eyes falling on the bed, where Peter sits in the dark, his eyes staring blankly ahead. "Peter?" my voice softens and I move silently forward, pausing to shut the door behind me. Peter flinches, though I didn't shut the door hard, and I bite my lip. I have done some careful research since he returned; trying to understand how he might be feeling, what to expect from my changed brother.

Books cannot tell me everything, but they give me some insight. And right now I can see that Peter is suffering. Some… reminisce of that time he was forced to endure stays with him, and I can tell. It's more than Mother, Lu and Ed seem to think. He is not just bitter with us, but angry… at himself. I wonder if he blames himself for surviving. Though that seems ridiculous, there have been so many cases, so many, where soldiers have come home only to commit suicide days later because they cannot cope with the tortures of their own minds. I have decided not to tell mother or the others about this; they'd only crowd Peter constantly, and that is _not_ what he wants, nor needs. Why else would he come to stare at a blank wall as much as he could but to escape the fate of the real world?

I cannot see how Finchley, our little town, holds any joy for him. They say that the smell of war stays on a soldier longer than any other smell. I can smell Peter's from here. As I move closer, I can almost taste the acid in the air, the acrid smell of fear. I wonder how it stands for my brother; how he can possibly still be physically _breathing_ after the war, and more so the smell that must be suffocating him. But perhaps that is what he feels is punishment. A constant reminder of his failure – or at least that is how he would see it, though we know other wise. Studying my brother, I see him suddenly blink, as though being brought back to reality. But that would mean he wasn't _in_ it to begin with; and I refuse to believe that, for it would mean my brother is already on the road so many have travelled before and is nearing a fate so dreadful it doesn't bare thinking about.

Peter looks up at me with hazy eyes, as though he had been sleeping. "How long have you been standing there?" He asks softly, and there is a hard edge to his words. I give a soft, gentle smile. Pete has never liked being watched; even at a young age. I suppose it's his sense of duty – he feels so … _protective _of us all, he has no need to be protected himself. But I disagree. Even elder brothers need protecting. Even if it has to be from themselves.

"Not long, Pete." I reassure him, moving closer and sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring the look he gives me, clearly telling me that he is _not_ happy. "Can't sleep?" I attempt to lighten the situation. He snorts.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Peter…" my voice holds a slight reproach and I sigh, trying another tack. "Ed didn't mean to pry, earlier…"

"Don't." his voice is sharp, blank and blunt.

"Peter…"

"No, Susan. Just don't. You weren't _there_. You didn't _see._" We both know he isn't talking about the dinner table conversation anymore. He isn't talking about Edmund; he's talking about war. I know he hates me for being so… _innocent_, but I cannot help who I am.

"Peter…" I try again.

"No. You think you can read books and suddenly understand… but you understand _nothing_!" he says, turning to me. "Understand; nothing!!"

I flinch, removing my hand from where it was about to lay itself upon his shoulder. Standing up slowly, I am forced to admit two things. My brother is lost to this world, and I cannot do anything to stop it. The truth pains me, but I must admit it, must be ready for what I am sure will eventually come.

I will try to be there for him, but whether he will accept me or not as comfort is another matter. I do not think he will. I don't know who he would accept; certainly not one of us. Perhaps father, if he were here. But father is dead – something we have decided not to tell Peter, not knowing how he might react.

As I leave the room silently, I bit my lip hard, closing the door, leaving Peter alone with his broken mind. I cannot help that perhaps it would have been best for us all if he had not returned. If he had died, instead of blaming himself and us for his return. Then perhaps we could have eventually found peace in his passing; and he find peace in his own death. But now…

Oh my dear brother, I worry for you. But I know I cannot help you. So I walk away. I know what might happen while you are alone in that room, but what else can I do except pray? So I will, brother. I will pray for you.

**A/N: Okay, so what did you think of Susan's view on Peter? Too much, too little, etc? Let me know:)**


	6. Stranger In His Stead

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis…**

**A/N: **

**Outlaw author: thank you:) For some reason Susan's point of view came most easily to me, and yes, poor Peter has so many issues going on, but he's refusing to see his family are trying to help. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

**Death's Executioner: Thankyou! Lol. I look forward to your email (grins) **

**Chapter Six**

They should have expected it. It was bound to happen at some point or other, just none of them expected it to happen so soon. How he'd found the telegram in the first place was still an issue to be discussed, but as Peter hadn't moved since they'd found him, it was hard.

Lucy bit her lip, struggling to force back tears. How had their life become such hell? How had it come to this? She shook her head, raising a hand to her cheek, wincing slightly, remembering.

Edmund watched her from his bed, carefully waiting for her to say something. Lucy had been silent since the incident, and he was worried. Crying, he could cope with. He knew what to do. But this… he shook his head and leaned back against the bed. He desperately wanted to sleep, but he refused to. Not until things were back to the way they should be.

Susan let tears fall as she watched her older brother. What had happened to them? Why had she let him go to war? She should've stopped him that day, should've _made_ him stay. Susan knew deep down if she'd really tried she could have gotten Peter to see her way of thinking. And why had he been sent back home – to ruin everyone else's life? She hated herself for wishing he were dead. There was a time when she'd known Peter, inside and out. But now… now her brother was a haze, this stranger in his stead was not Peter... simply a shell of her brother.

**a few hours earlier**

He knew Peter knew the moment his eyes connected with his brother's, the moment he entered the room where he, Lucy and Susan sat reading. It was written on Peter's face, the grief etched in every line. Edmund watched as his older brother moved to speak; then close his mouth, before opening it again. "Why didn't you tell me?" it was then that the younger boy noticed the telegram clutched in Peter's slightly shaking hands. He swallowed.

Seeing no one else was about to speak, Edmund took the initiative. "We were going to, Pete," he began, trying to reassure his brother. "But we wanted give you some time to adjust to being home first." He spoke carefully, unwilling to fuel Peter' anger.

Peter looked around at his family, before turning on his heel, preparing to walk away. Suddenly he felt a small hand slip into his and span round to face Lucy staring up at him with puppy dog eyes. "Please don't be mad," she whispered, and Peter's heart would have melted had it not been for her next words. "You haven't been yourself and we didn't want to upset you…" Peter froze and turned to move. He paused and span round, hitting Lucy hard across the face- so hard she would have fallen if Edmund hadn't caught her.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!" He snapped, holding Lucy fast as she began to cry, the shock of what had happened too much for her young mind to grasp. Peter stood frozen in horror. He raised his eyes to meet Susan's, before he turned and almost ran out of the room. Susan stood up and moved to follow him as Edmund tried to comfort his younger sister as she cried.

Susan moved through the house as she followed Peter, anger filling her. She understood grief - but that did _not_ excuse Peter's actions and he was going to apologise to Lucy, like it or not. Upon hearing the bathroom door slam, she moved up the stairs and to the bathroom, banging on the door. "Peter," she ordered. "Open this door!!" No answer. "_Peter Pevensie!" _she practically yelled. Still no answer. After a moment Susan's anger turned to worry. "Peter!" She tried the door only to find it locked. "PETER!" Remembering Lucy and Edmund downstairs, she bit her lip and moved to her room, grabbing a hairpin and moving back through to the bathroom and beginning to pick the lock on the door. After a minute though, she had to admit defeat. "Damn you Peter…" she murmured. "_Edmund!"_ she yelled. Within a few seconds he was there, Lucy nearby, wide eyed and terrified, shaking. "Pete's in there, he's not answering and I can't get the door to move," Susan explained hurriedly.

Edmund cursed and knocked sharply on the door. "Peter, I'm giving you ten seconds to respond before I come in," he called. He grabbed a nearby screwdriver and began unscrewing the door's hinges as he counted. As the last screw came undone, he gathered up his courage, before wrenching the door free. As he turned back towards the bathroom, his mind sighed with relief before worry took over once more. Peter sat on the floor in the far corner of the bathroom, staring into space, his eyes glazed over.

From where she stood behind her brother, Susan swallowed, placing a hand on Edmund's shoulder, the other reaching out to take Lucy's hand. "Peter?" She asked softly in a trembling voice. Edmund detached himself from his sisters and slowly made his way to Peter, kneeling down. "Pete?" he waved a hand over Peter's face, his heart beginning to race. It was only when he moved to stand up again that he noticed something that made his blood run cold. Peter was slowly rocking back and forth.

**A/N: okay, there it is. Sorry it's short, but any more would have ruined it and had me babbling… let me know what you think!**


	7. Wounds Will Heal

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis…**

**A/N:**

**Outlaw author: Thank you! Yes, Peter went crazy…. Lol. Who knows, things could get better…**

**FlyingFaeriesDance: Wow! Thanks :) I hope you like this chapter too**

**Sarah'sTwilight: Whoo hoo! Thank you! I'm glad the way I've portrayed Peter seems to work for everyone, as I think I'd be dodging flying textbooks or something right now otherwise… **

**Chapter Seven**

I take a bowl of water over to mother, who is fussing over Peter's still form. Worry is filling me, but I try to push it back. There was a time when I couldn't stand watching my family fuss over Peter, but now I suppose I do it as much as they. After all, Peter is only human and needs looking after as much as we all do. But this… this is different. We have never had to deal with this before. No, I lie. _Mother_ has never had to deal with this before. We – I – have. In Narnia, after our very first battle… Peter could not let go of the fact that he had killed. No matter how much we tried to tell him that in battle it was every man for himself, Peter, ever the Hero, still refused to hurt another.

He went into a coma like state – and it took a week to get him out of it… properly at least. Oh, the coma faded after a few hours and he seemed almost normal to those who didn't know him, but he was still... distant. I knew he was blaming himself for what had happened, who he'd killed, and tried to talk to him. It didn't help. Now all I can do is watch helplessly as he stumbles back into that old stupor, knowing that guilt is the reason behind it.

An idea strikes me. Peter had no one to apologise to before; it was only Aslan that made him finally forgive himself (although I think he still hates what he's done). Well now we don't have Aslan, but at least we _do_ have someone for Peter to forgive. He hurt Lucy; if he can get her to forgive him, he might be alright. It's a long shot, but he has to try.

I sigh and kneel next to mother who is pressing a cold compass against Peter's forehead. "Mother, why don't you get some air?" I ask quietly. "Let me try…" she gives me a sceptical look before moving off. She has every right not to trust me. Only a year ago I would've done something mean; put Peter in the shower, most likely, and turned it on, locking the door behind me. But things have changed. I can respect him now. I understand him. Shaking my head, I focus my attention on the task ahead. "Peter." I speak clearly, sure he can hear me. The last time this happened, after it happened, Peter had told me that he could hear everything everyone was saying. I just hope this is the same thing. "Peter, listen. I know you struck Lucy out of grief; but that doesn't mean you can do this. You need to apologise to her. I know you're blaming yourself right now which is probably (Hopefully) why you've gone into this… state… but you need to snap out of it. I'll bring Lucy over and I want you to apologise. You know she'll forgive you."

Nothing. But then I didn't expect him to reply. It's not always that easy. I sigh. "Lu?" she comes in almost immediately, her eyes large and round. Noticing her tremble, I reached up and squeezed her hand. "Peter has something to say to you."

We both watched. We both waited. And then, eventually, it came. Like a whisper, a broken shard of a voice spoke out. "I'm sorry…" At first I didn't believe it had come from him; it was far too weak to be from Peter, _my brother_, but it had. I could see it in his face. His eyes were rapidly blinking, as though on the threat of tears. "I'm so sorry…" he repeated again, covering his face with his hands. "I'm a monster…" my eyes widened. This was how my brother thought himself? Shaking her head, Lucy did the only thing she could have done at the time. She knelt down, swallowed her fear of him and pulled him into her arms.

"No, Peter…" she whispered, trying not to cry herself. "You're not a monster…" she kissed his forehead and Peter let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

"You don't know me… what I've…" he shook his head, sobbing silently.

"Peter, listen… you're my brother, I love you… please… please…" Lucy was crying now, her heart breaking for him. I wanted to reach out to them, pull them both into a hug, but this moment was for them alone. This time I would not be the one to pull Peter out of his darkness, but Lucy would. Her innocence would save him.

"Lucy…" he clung to her, weak as a babe, and I sighed, touching Lucy's shoulder. She looked up at me, seeing the question in my eyes asking if she'd want to be alone with him. She nodded, and I moved away, resting a hand on Peter's shoulder before leaving, leaving the door open. I could hear Peter sobbing as Lucy held him.

Perhaps things would get better, in time. Perhaps the wounds will heal, the soul mend. Perhaps.

**A/N: Okay, what do you think? Happy note for the chapter's ending, or not? Work or not? Let me know:)**


	8. Unsettled Scores

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis. The chapter's title is from the song _Unsettled Scores _from the musical _Whistle Down the Wind_...  
**

**A/N: **

_Outlaw author_: **thank you! I admit Edmund was hard to do (I always find him harder than anyone else, weirdly, not sure why), so I'm glad you liked it :) hope you enjoy this chapter as well…**

**Chapter Eight**

They are fooled. It has been too long, too long since I have had to fool them, and yet still they trust, still they believe. Because they have to. Because they _need to._ I apologised, but I did not believe when she accepted. When she said what she knew I wanted to hear. I cried because they wanted me to, yet I felt nothing. Everything is dark inside, and I will never be found. Not by them, not by the sister who hovers by the door, not by the mother that sits downstairs, not by the father who lays somewhere, cold as marble, cold as I am becoming.

Perhaps I shall share his grave soon. It is a comfort to think that all this could end, if only I were brave enough, strong enough. But see, that was always my problem. Oh, they called me _Magnificent_, they called me _hero_, yet none knew how wrong they really were. None. I am ashamed to say I hate them; whilst I love them. I am ashamed to tell them what I have done. Yet still they press me. I am their older brother; what wrong could _I_ possibly do wrong?

My hands are red with their blood. Blood that should be mine. I shake my thoughts away as darkness covers my mind once more. My youngest sister, my little Lucy, she shone in the dark for a while, but now she is gone, now they are _all_ gone. I am alone, as I always should have been. After what I have done … who could care for me?

I finger the cold metal in my hands, hidden from their sight, knowing that if they saw it, there would be questions, questions and then demands. Demands and then… anger. The anger I could deal with. Oh, yes. I could deal with that. But then there would be a shattered illusion for them all. Shattered dreams I cannot deal with. Mine had all been shattered the first time I killed. Who was I to shatter theirs? So I smiled until they left. The serpent wriggled in my mind and I let him whisper to me, no longer wanting this… this _pain._

There are some unsettled scores to attend to. My brother stands for justice; perhaps he would understand. No, no I know he would not, yet I pretend he would. Something inside me still wants to be understood, but mostly I have nothing to live for. My family do not need me. They have proved that. My sudden reappearance here shocks them.

Susan… my dear sister… I know her thoughts. They are so clear for me to read, even now. Even after she cannot read me, I can read her. She always was so open. She blames me for this… she is right to. I know. I can see.

Edmund… my only brother. Whom I almost lost once. I was not strong enough, sure enough to protect him myself that time, but now I will be. He will not be saved and changed only to be corrupted once more.

Lucy… my sweet baby sister. No, no harm can come to her. I have already betrayed her once, I will not any longer. She will not have to watch me fall, and fall with me. She will _not_.

Mother… oh mother, how I wish you could understand as you claim to. But some things you are never meant to understand. I hope you can forgive me. And I hope you can forgive yourself. There is nothing left for you to do. Nothing left for anyone to do.

No more. I am finished.

**A/N: **

**Okay… what do you think? I know I've posted twice in one day, but hey. Lol **


	9. The Clatter Of Metal

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, it all belongs to CS Lewis**

**A/N: once again thanks to all my fab reviewers for reviewing!! Without you there would be no story… literally. Lol! **

**Phoenix Feather Queens: Thank you! Here's an update; but I'm sorry it's short…**

**Outlaw Author: thank you!!**

**Flying Faeries Dance: thank you, I'm so glad you like it :)**

**Bethany Camille: lol… damn, is it that obvious? Ah well… hope you like the update!!!**

**Chapter Nine**

The hand came down fast and strong as he moved to slit his wrist once more. Blood was already dripping from one wrist, and he was eager to see more. For finally, he was sure, justice would have its day. But as he felt a hand on his wrist, he only felt sinking horror. He looked up slowly, into the eyes of his oldest sister. Susan swallowed. Moved to speak, failing. She looked down at him, then at the knife in his hand, before snatching it off him and running out of the room, straight into her younger brother.

Edmund caught her as her knees buckled, concern etched in his face. "Sue?" He asked softly, stroking her hair as she began to sob. He bit his lip, unsure how to comfort her. "Sue…"

"P…Peter…" She took a deep breath and Edmund froze. _No_. The thought manifested in his mind, refusing to let its grip go. He took hold of her wrists, despite her protests, forcing her to look at him.

"What about Peter?" he asked forcefully, and Susan gulped at the fire in his eyes.

"He…" she shook her head, trying to fight him off. "Let go of me!" Edmund ignored her.

"What about _Peter_?!" He repeated, shaking her slightly. Susan let the knives in her hand drop, knives that Edmund hadn't noticed, so focused had he been on the emotion flickering through her face. He looked down as he heard the clatter of metal, and with it, in his mind's eye, he saw it. All too terrifyingly real, he saw everything. The last few days came back to him like a nightmare that finally returns after one has long forgotten the details. Peter…

_Oh my sweet brother…_ she thought despairingly. "Peter tried to…" Edmund almost knocked her out of the way after one look at her face as he pushed her away and moved towards the bathroom, throwing open the door. His eyes widened. He stopped.

"_No!"_ he breathed.

His older brother hung from his own tie to the railings of the bath's shower, limp.

**A/N: short, I know… but what do you think? Let me know :)**


	10. Eager to Die

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, or Peter... it all belongs to CS Lewis**

**A/N: Once again thanks to my two reviewers :) you guys keep this story (and sometimes the characters...) alive...**

**Outlaw Author: read on, read on! lol**

**Bethany Camille: Ah, read and ye shall see ;)**

**Chapter Ten**

There is nothing like the sound of one's blood dripping on the floor to make one feel nausius. There is nothing like the screams of one's siblings to make one feel guilty. And there is nothing like the cry of one's mother, to make one feel...

I feel nothing. The birds sing, the wind howls, yet everything is still in my mind. A shadow has been making its way into my heart... and I embrace it. What I did... what I tried to do last night... they will not, cannot, understand. Perhaps they will. When it is too late. They watch me now; warily, as though I might cast myself off the window ledge and fall onto the cold marble below. It is a tempting thought, but I must desist. Else I fall back into that black pit of despair.

I let my pain claim me earlier. Totally, utterly. It was meant to be a dignifying moment for me; but when Susan came into the bathroom and caught me as I sacrificed myself... all I felt was revulsion, utter hate for what I am,what I have become. There is nothing like the look one's sister gives you to make one feel what I felt then.

First guilt. Then anger... ah, sweet anger. I let it fill me; self-loathing rose bile in my throat and I forced it back, dragging my own tie loose from where it held about my neck, looking for an exit... one I would never find again. It came too soon; there was not enough pain for my liking, for what would have been appropriate, but all the same, it was enough. Would have been enough, had not my family interfered when they did.

They pulled me out of that dark pit; brought me back to life, made the blood run in my veins again, instead of dripping onto the ground. They made my heart start beating again; however brokenly; and made me gasp for breath before I could realise what was happening. As they held me close, I wept. They thought I wept for what I had done, but I wept for what I had not done, what was still left undone.

Perhaps they think I am insane. Perhaps that is the reason why they look upon me with such fear in their eyes. Have I ever caused my siblings to fear for me before this moment? No, I think not. I am Peter; their brother, their leader, their High King, who am I to feel? They looked to me to make things right, and so I pushed back my own fears and concentrated on soothing the tattered remains of my sibling's souls.

Mother... oh, mother, how little you understand, yet how much you wish to understand. But caution, mother. Caution that your understanding, your lust for understanding, does not pull you down with me. I am entering an abyss, and I must go in alone. You cannot follow.

Will you ever understand me? I hope not. The sorrow in your eyes laments my passing and coming, and then passing again, before returning to you. If only I had died in the war... yes, I know your thoughts, mother, for I share them. I sympathise. You are my mother... I am your son, yet now it seems as though I am the older of us, the more knowledgable.

Is this why men are so eager to die in battle? Is this why they willingly give their lives for the 'greater good'? I came back to see nothing had changed. None of you knew anything of the sacrifices me and mine had made on those battlefields. Not the anger, the grief, the pain, the fear... I thought I would die out there, and I would give anything now to have died. We are told that if we make it through then we are lucky, but I do not believe that. How can I? Life is... meaningless. One life in this world cannot account for several. You stand, staring as my world devides and my fear conqures me. Do I care? No. I wish for death, that is all.

Do you understand now? You nod at me, yet I do not think you ever will. I am glad, for if you understood then it would mean your heart would be as blackened as mine. And that... cannot happen.

I am alive, for now. Yet each beat of my heart brings me closer to the edge.

I will find a way. I will find a way to rid my family of my misdoings. Of my evils. They can cage me, keep me locked up, put me in a cell with men in white coats if they wish, though I don't believe they ever would, and yet still I would find something. Whether by the sword, the knife, the gun, or the slow decay of time, I shall fall.

And I shall laugh as I do.

**A/N: well, what do you think? Peter's alive, at least... let me know! Please review:)**


	11. Remember Nothing

Dust to Dust

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis

A/N: Two chapters in one day? What am I doing?! Ah well...

Siren Writer: I think he has good reason here, don't you? Don't worry, he still has a chance to be redeemed... if he'll let them help ;)

Outlaw Author: thankyou!! your encouragement means a lot :)

Flying Faeries Dance: thankyou! I'm glad you're liking it!!

Anonymouse: Its hard for Peter to accept that he can't change things... if he gets less depressed, it will be slowly... so keep faith, it could still happen! Glad you like my writing though.

narnianqueen33: Hmmn, who knows! Maybe...

Chapter Eleven

She moved towards the broken body of her brother as he lay on his side, approaching him as one would a dangerous animal. "Peter..." She called his name, but was unsuprised when he didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to. Moving to his side, Susan knelt, raising a hand to stroke his hair. She felt him flinch slightly, and shook her head. "I'm not going to harm you." she whispered, her heart breaking for her brother. Peter murmured something incoherant and she sighed, not asking him to repeat his words. "Peter..." She began, then hesitated. What was she to say? She sighed and moved so she was more comfortable, before reachign for her brother's hands, taking them in her own despite his small murmur of protest. "I'm here for you." she said instead, unable to voice her thoughts.

Susan trailed off, left to her own thoughts as Peter refused to respond, still holding onto his hand. An hour later, she felt him squeeze her hand back ever-so gently.

"You shouldn't be." Peter spoke, and Susan's head snapped up to meet his gaze. "You shouldn't care about me..."

"Peter..."

"No. No, Susan... you... you don't understand." His voice was strained, and she could hear how much it pained him to say the words he was speaking. He struggled to sit up and Susan almost bolted upright, gently forcing him back down. "Susan..."

"Hush..." she whispered, swallowing back tears. "Peter..." Once more he struggled to sit, and his sister gave a resigned sigh as she moved his pillows up, helping him. He gave her a weakened smile; the first smile she'd seen since he returned home. "Peter, let me ask you something... and I want you to be honest with me, okay?" He swallowed before giving a small but unmistakable nod. "Do you wish you had died in the War?" Susan asked quietly, before meeting his gaze.

Peter took a deep breath. There had been the very thought that had plagued him since... well, since he'd been told that he was 'allowed' to go back home. He swallowed, closing his eyes. Contrary to popular belief, he did not want to hurt his family, but Susan had asked for the truth, and Peter couldn't lie to her, even if he wanted to... "Yes" he whispered, very quietly.

Susan closed her eyes, swallowing back tears that threatened to fall. She had known this was the case, and yet... _and yet to hear Peter actually _say _it out loud... that makes it even more true than I'd wanted.. _She looked up and met the now dead eyes of the brother she'd once loved and admired so much. Susan bit her lip. There had been a time when she'd given anything to be like Peter. Loved, admired, wanted... but now... suddenly she was beginning to realise that having Magnificence, _being_ magnificent, was so, so much more than she'd originally thought. She wondered, somewhat idilly, whether Aslan knew what he was putting his High King through. Then another thought entered her mind. Did Peter even _remember_ Narnia? She hadn't heard him speak of it since he'd been back... but then she hadn't heard Peter speak of a great many things since he'd returned home.

"Do you remember Narnia?" she found herself asking suddenly. Peter lifted his head weakly, moving weary and tired eyes to meet hers.

"What?" He asked softly, his eyes showing his confusion and exhaustion.

"Narnia... do you remember it?" Susan was horrified when Peter took a few minutes to answer, his eyes closing slowly.

"No... no, I suppose I don't. It was a wonderful game, wasn't it?"

_Game..._ Susan swallowed. No. He couldn't... he didn't believe... "Peter..." she began, but stopped. Perhaps he was only saying this because he was tired. She could see his exhaustion.

"If only such a world existed..." he breathed, before falling into a restless slumber. Susan felt tears prick at her eyelids and slammed her eyes shut against them, refusing to cry.

"But it does, Peter..." she whispered. "It does..."

------

Lucy sat in her room, reading a book Peter had given her a long time ago when she heard Susan come up the stairs, letting out the softest of sobs as she entered the room they shared, before moving to her bed, collapsing on it and burying her head in her hands, sobbing. Shutting the book, Lucy set it down before making her way timidly to her sister. "Sue?" She asked quietly. Susan looked up, her eyes swimming with tears.

"I can't help him, Lu..." she whispered. Lucy felt her heart thump painfully. She knew what Susan meant. _Peter_... She swallowed and sat down next to her sister, taking her sister's hands in her own, squeezing gently.

"Perhaps..." she spoke slowly. "Perhaps we're not... meant to." Susan looked down at her sister, confusion in her eyes. "I mean..." here she hesitated, before speaking again. "Since Peter... came back... he..." She bit her lip. "I don't know, I just... something is telling me that we should just... let him go."

Susan pulled away from Lucy, horror in her eyes as she stood up. "_Let him go_?!" She asked, incredulous. "Lucy, you mean we should let him _die?!_ Just... just GIVE UP?!" Lucy bit her lip, not having wished to make Susan mad. She met her eyes steadily enough, though, and swallowed, ploughing on.

"Peter obviously doesn't want to be here anymore, Sue... why do you think he tried to..." she trailed off for a moment, before continuing. "I love Peter, as you do, that is why I... maybe it is time we let him stop torturing himself. Surely death cannot be as painful for him as living is right now? Why should we keep him here just for our own selfish reasons?"

"He's our _brother_!" Susan argued, unable to believe she was having this conversation - and with Lucy, of all people. Not so long ago, Lucy and Peter had been inseperable. Until... something clicked in Susan's mind, and she stared down at the younger girl with disgust. "Are you sure you're so concerned about Peter?"

Lucy looked up, frowning. "What?"

"Are you sure this isn't because you aren't the _favourite_ anymore?!" Lucy's eyes widened and she gaped at her sister. "Is it because he slapped you?" Susan continued, not caring how she was hurting her sister.

"I forgave Peter for that mishap." Lucy spoke, her words coming out with an edge. "As you know, for you were _there_, you _saw_. How _dare_ you presume that I mean to do anything but save Peter from himself!"

"Oh, how cavaleir!" Susan cried mockingly. "The sweet, valient Lucy is trying to save her brother." She let out a mocking laugh. "Well don't, Lucy. Don't waste your breath. You can't save him, nor can I!"

Hearing a gentle cough, they both whirled to see Edmund standing there, Peter nearby. Susan's face paled, as she remembered her words. "Peter..." she began, but he simply stepped away. He gave Edmund a look before moving down the hallway, into the room they shared, slamming the door behind him.

Edmund watched his sisters as they began to understand the magnitude of what they had just done; what it had looked like to he and Peter. He sighed. Since Peter's return, things had been building up. The family was being torn apart, because they couldn't cope. Like it or not, they had all believed that Peter would die and had already mourned him, and passed on through the gates of acceptance. But now they were faced with the challange of accepting that their brother was alive, and it was too much. Edmund stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him.

"I think we need to talk."

------

An hour later, Edmund walked out of his sisters' room, heart heavy. He had been right. Peter was slowly tearing the family apart as he tried to tear himself apart, and nothing that Edmund did would make it any different. He sighed softly, rubbing his forehead as he moved to the room he and Peter shared, entering quietly to see Peter staring outside from where he stood next to the window. "Hey." Edmund said quietly, sitting down on his own bed. No response. Edmund sighed, shaking his head as he moved to grab his pjamas, getting ready for bed.

He moved into the bathroom, the image of Peter hanging from the ceiling flashing fresh in his mind. He swallowed back bile and moved towards the basin, brushing his teeth before dressing, moving back to the bedroom. Peter still stood where Edmund had left him, his back turned. Edmund slid into the bed and pulled out a book to read.

"Ed?" The younger boy froze. "Ed, I can't do this..." His older brother turned, and Edmund was stunned to see the traces of tears on his face. He swallowed, and stayed still, not sure what to do, suddenly wishing that Lucy or Susan were in here... they'd have been much more able to cope with this than he himself. "Everytime I sleep... I... I hear their screams, their... I feel their blood on my hands, I can see their bodies... there were so many, Edmund... so, so many, I lostcount..." Peter trembled, and Edmund moved from his bed, making his way to his older brother and guiding him towards the bed, helping him sit down. Peter sat, trembling. "I can't do this..." he repeated. "I can't..."

"Peter..." Edmund began hesitantly, but Peter turned to him, his eyes full of pain.

"I can't, Ed. How can they expect me to live this life... having done what I've done, having... _killed_."

"You killed in Narnia." Edmund pointed out softly.

"That's not the same thing. There was reason, honour. Blood was shed as a last resort. Here..." Peter faltered. "Blood is spilled without hesiation, without cause, with malice. People kill just to kill. And there are so many, Ed. So, so many..." his eyes were glazed over, and Edmund sighed softly.

"You can't keep doing this, Peter... you can't keep blaming yourself for something you cannot control. I could understand... just... in Narnia, because you were High King, but here... you're another soldier, Peter. You can't change the future of the world, any world"

"But..."

"Peter, listen to me. All this guilt is breaking you apart. Do you think that the girls and I can't see it? We can... but that doesn't mean we want you to stop showing emotion. In fact it means the opposite. We need for you to be honest with us, Peter. We're your family, we won't just run away the minute that you fall." Peter moved to argue, and Edmund fixed him with a look. "You didn't let me. And I betrayed you. All of you, to the Witch. You didn't let me fall though, Peter. And I won't let you."

"That was different..." Peter said quietly.

"Yes, it was, true." Edmund agreed. "Different because I did far worse than you'd ever done, or would ever do. Peter, you fought for us. Over, and over again. Narnia, here, it's all the same. You have to stop this. Please, Peter, please just let us help. It's all we want to do."

"I can't." Peter said helplessly. "I'm sorry Ed... I just... I can't." Edmund sighed and shook his head, before moving over to Peter's drawers, pulling out some pjamas and throwing them to his older brother. Peter caught them, giving Edmund an odd look.

Edmund shook his head at Peter. "If you won't let us... then I swear I will keep trying till you do. You didn't give up on me, I won't give up on you. If you remember nothing else of the good you have done for your family, remember Narnia."

"I can't." Peter confessed quietly, before slipping into bed.

Edmund froze, staring at his brother's still form. _He doesn't remember Narnia?_

**A/N: Mouhahahaha... so Peter has no recollection of Narnia! What do you think of the chapter? Good, bad, simply aweful?? Let me know :-)**


	12. Threads of An Old Life

Dust to Dust

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, it all belongs to CS Lewis. I do not own the poem used at the bottom of this chapter; it belongs to Robert Frost. The poem is called _Walking by the Woods on a Snowy Evening_, and I do not own the first paragraph, which is from Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King!! Oh, and I do not own Peter (if you hadn't guessed). I think he'd be running far, far away from me by now if I did, don't you:P

Flying Faeries Dance: I wanted someone instead of Susan to be close to Peter... as it always seems as though Susan is there, the others kind of drift out of the picture, so I changed that for this. I'm glad you liked it! Hopefully you like this next chapter :)

Chapter Twelve

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend.

Some hurts that go too deep... and have taken hold.

My mind is in tatters, and yet I care not. I am starting to resign myself to this never-ending world of pain, fear and doubt. Who am I to deny myself what other soldiers embrace daily, whether out of choice or duty? I am simply one more man - my doings mean nothing in this world. All I have done is killed, destructed and destroyed.

My heart throbs with pain; and with the longing to be finally released from this prison of life. But something within me knows that I will not allow that to happen; not again. Not until my life's work is complete; whatever that may be. I am utterly shattered, longing for my reprieve, knowing it will never come. The longer I wait, the harder it will be to find. And yet... can I watch, once more, as my family falls apart? I hear my sisters crying in the room next to mine, over me. You cannot understand the guilt that this burdens me with. I am bringing them so, so much pain, and yet I cannot stop it, no matter how hard I tried. I have tried once, and failed. Failed to do my duty... failed to live, failed to die.

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you suddenly become right again, when you have found so many wrongs? How do you believe in everything once more, when you know there is nothing good left to believe in?

I hear the roar of a lion, somewhere in the distance, naming me High King over a land I have not heard of; and it makes no sense, yet it screams importance. Am I finally going mad? Is this the final evidence of my insanity? When first my sister, then my brother, mentioned that said place I was 'King' of, my mind froze, the voices inside that murmured to me in my darkest hours ceasing for a delicious moment, before becoming louder, so, so loud. I wondered whether I had said something in my sleep; how else could they have known of this land?

_If only there were such a place..._ my heart longs for the truth, yet my mind is too exhausted to care anymore; to _search _for that truth. I want this to end. I want the suffering for my family, my siblings, the suffering of my poor mother, to stop. I just want it to end.

Yet something tells me I still have a part to play in this sorry tale that my life has become.

Perhaps for good or worse, I do not know which, but I know that I shall play it out none the less. I am a puppet, with strings. Use me as you will. I am yours... destiny... fate. Death... it is all the same to me now. Live or die... it makes no difference, no change to me. Either way I am a doomed man. I knew that the minute I signed up. But I will wait, however impatiently... I will wait. The darkness calls me, but I shall not go just yet. Not yet.

_The woods are lovely,_

_Dark and deep_

_But I have promises to keep_

_And miles to go before I sleep_

_And miles to go before I sleep_

**A/N: **Okay, what did you think? Good? Bad? Awful?? Let me know:)


	13. Imagine

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure my name is not CS Lewis, and Narnia isn't mine...**

**A/N: Apologies! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, but this chapter was written and rewritten so many times. I only hope you like it... thanks to everyone who reviewed; if it werent' for you guys, there would be no story!**

Chapter Twelve:

Susan knocked on Peter's door, her heart hammering. She didn't know what had made her suddenly decide to do what she was about to do; she just knew she had to do... _something_... before she snapped – or even worse, _Peter_ snapped – completely. The paper she held in her hands trembled along with the hand that held it, and she swallowed. _"Who is it?"_ Peter's voice, hollow, sounded from inside the room and she sighed softly. At least he was awake.

"Susan." She said quietly, and, upon hearing him murmur his asset, she opened the door. She hoped he was finally accepting her back into his life; but the blank gaze in his eyes told her otherwise. She knew, with a sinking heart, what was going on. Peter was pushing everything back; all the hurt, the pain, the memories. Refusing to deal with it until he was stronger, but the problem (or so Susan feared) was that he might never be strong enough; that his past would haunt his tortured mind forever. "Peter...?" she bit her lip. _Am I really going to do this? _She asked herself, wondering whether she dared take the chance of what might happen. _I have to, _she reflected sadly. _Otherwise..._ she cut the thought off, sitting on the edge of Peter's bed. "I have something I want to show you." She said quietly.

Peter looked up at her warily, and she wondered if somehow he could see what she was planning for him. _No, that's impossible... he couldn't._ "What?" He asked simply, and Susan's heart ached at how tired his voice sounded. He sounded so... broken. She wanted back her brother; the Peter she used to know, the boy who'd laugh with everyone else, the boy who was innocent when it came to war and pain. This man that he'd become... she didn't know what to do to change him; and this was her last option. If this failed...

"You'll just have to trust me." She said softly. "Please, Peter." _If this doesn't work, what will? _She asked herself desperately.

Peter managed a small nod, uncurling himself from where he half-lay on the bed. "It's cold outside," she said softly. "You'll want a coat." He gave her a look, but simply nodded quietly and grabbed the requested item of clothing. Susan gave him a comforting smile and rested a hand gently but nervously on his shoulder. Peter flinched slightly, but Susan only kept hold, leading him out of the room and downstairs. Seeing Edmund in the front room, she poked her head round the door. "Ed, we're going out; we'll be back soon." He nodded; she knew he already knew where they were going; she'd discussed this plan with him a while back.

"See you in a bit." He said with a half wave before reassuming his book.

------

Peter glanced at Susan as they walked. Trying to figure out what she was thinking. Trying to figure out where they were going. Her stance gave away nothing; and it was infuriating Peter no end that he could no longer read his sister as he used to. It was just beginning to dawn on him that he no longer really knew who she was. He sighed softly, shaking his head. Some things would never be able to be changed.

As they neared a sombre looking church, Peter's heart began to thud. Something in him was screaming protest; and he couldn't for the life of him understand why – couldn't understand exactly _what _his subconscious had realised about this place that his conscious still hadn't. _Where am I? _He wondered. His questioning look to Susan revealed nothing. Her face remained impassive; and he was reminded of a soldier just told to shoot someone he didn't know and didn't want to shoot. His eyes narrowed as he followed his sister with trepidation.

They rounded a corner, and Peter's heart nearly stopped as he realised where they were. _No. No, she can't do this to me!!_ Something in him screamed in protest. But, upon looking at his sibling's face, he knew. Somehow, he just _knew_ exactly where she was taking him. After all, what other reason could Susan Pevensie _possibly _have to come to a graveyard? Peter swallowed, still praying against hope and reason that he was somehow terribly wrong. But when Susan took his hand and led him through the graves, to a white gravestone bearing a single bouquet of white roses, Peter's heart froze. _This cannot be happening_. Dread made him finally look down at the name on the gravestone, and he swallowed, holding back bile.

_Thomas Alexander Pevensie_

_Beloved husband, son and friend_

_RIP_

------

Upon seeing the grief that her brother was trying hard to repress, Susan suddenly began to wonder whether she'd done the right thing by bringing him here. _Too late now to go back; I can only carry on with this..._ she thought, with somewhat reluctance. _I'm sorry Peter..._ she silently apologised to her brother. Peter turned as though to leave, and she placed a firm hand on his shoulder; registering that he was shaking. Biting hard on her lip, Susan turned him gently to face the gravestone once more.

"Do you remember all those stories dad used to tell us?" She began softly "There were knights, heroes, dragons, evil wizards, and daddy used to re-enact them – sometimes with you and Ed, if you were listening. Corse you nearly always did... even when Ed pretended he was too old, he'd be listening by the door, and you'd be right there with him, or in your room sitting quietly to listen." She watched Peter's shoulders as they began to shake; knowing he was desperately trying to hold back tears. "Do you remember that one time Ed was really, really ill? You stayed by his side all the time, and you were trying to be so strong. Daddy came in... He told you that sometimes a man needs to cry almost as much as a man, and you began to cry. You didn't stop for ages... when we almost lost Ed, I thought we'd loose you too. I knew that if anything happened to one of us... You were so like him, Peter. So, so much like dad, in so many ways. You still are." She saw Peter shake his head mutely at her words, and carried on. "Do you remember when dad got taken away from us; when he got called up? I saw your face as they took him away; you were devastated."

"Stop." Peter's voice was nothing more than a pleading whisper. Susan heard how it shook, but bit her lip, steadying her thoughts once more before continuing.

"You said he was never coming back... you said it was all your fault because you couldn't go in his place; because you were too young. You said you were too stupid, too small to go to war, but you swore that you would do what ever it took... you just wanted dad back."

"Stop... Susan..." Peter was breaking slowly, and Susan could see it, but still she continued, knowing that sometimes pain is the only way forward.

"You wanted him back so badly. I know you were crying sometimes for him. I remember Lucy used to come into your room, slip into bed with you when you were awake and you'd comfort her. I know because I remember her sneaking from our room. I knew exactly where she was going every time. You were her rock, Peter. You became... you became our father figure, essentially. Or more correctly, Edmund and Lucy's. To me you were, simply put, my best friend and brother. I could tell you anything."

"Things change, huh?" Peter said softly. His eyes were fixed on his father's name as he swallowed back yet more tears, angry at himself for not being able to hold them back.

Susan gave a small sigh. What else was it going to take for her to get him to release all those emotions? She tried another tack; one last stand against the thing that her brother was becoming – Mr Non –emotion. "I know what you think, Peter. I know that you think that his death is your fault. I know that's why you went to war." She paused, glancing at him. Nothing. So she continued. "I know that you're upset because you made it through. I know that every time you look out of that window you used to love watching out of you want nothing more than to throw yourself through the glass and simply cease to exist." At last. Peter flinched, swallowing. Susan took a breath, unable to believe she was doing this. "I know that you hate yourself, everything that your life has become, everything you ceased to be a long time ago."

"Stop." He repeated again, voice quieter – if that were possible – than before. Susan put a hand on his arm and he flinched away from her. She felt him tremble for a brief second, before he gave a slight shake as though to shake himself out of his doze. "You can't save me, Susan. I know what you're trying to do, and you... it won't work." His voice cracked. "You can't save me." He repeated, still staring at the name on the grave.

"I wonder if it was painful." Susan said, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth. "I wonder if dad felt the pain at all as he was shot." Peter started, blinking rapidly. Susan recognised that look in his eyes, and rejoiced. For she knew all too well that when Peter acted that way he was close, so close, to breaking. _If I can just push him a little more..._ she thought. "As the bullet pierced through his skin..." She was making herself feel sick at her words, but shrugged back the emotion, concentrating on Peter.

------

_Why is she doing this to me? _Peter thought desperately. _Does she _want_ me to break completely? Doesn't she understand that once she achieves that goal there is no going back? Why is she talking about dad this way? Doesn't it hurt her, or is she too frozen to remember the pain of loosing him??_

"I wonder what it felt like," Susan mused, and Peter stole a look at her. "To not know about your father's death... to learn through a piece of paper. I suppose I was lucky. At least mother told me."

"Are you trying to kill me?" Peter asked softly, finally turning his gaze on his sister. "Because if you are, carry on. Keep going." He watched as Susan turned, eyes raising to meet his.

------

Susan froze at the look on Peter's face, realising that somehow she had gone too far without realising before it were too late. _Oh God... oh Peter..._she lamented in her mind, seeing the pain in his eyes as he looked at her. _I'm sorry..._ she swallowed. "Peter..."

"You want to know what it's like, Susan." Peter interrupted. "you want to know what it's like to lose everything you once believed in. To yourself along with your faith. To lose any hope of ever returning to whom you once were. You want to know? Then I'll tell you."

Susan watched as he moved away from her, swallowing. _What have I done? _She wondered. "Imagine the worst feeling in the world. Imagine all the hate, pain, anger, fear, helplessness, torment and suffering that the world goes through. Place it all together in one heart. Then add watching your friends die at your hand; or even worse, at your _command_. Imagine watching as your best friend is shot down because he tried to save you. Imagine... imagine coming home only to find that nothing has changed; everyone still believes that war will end at Christmas, when you know _full well_ that there is no chance of it ending for at least three to five more years. Imagine watching as soldiers rape, beat and kill women without being able to do anything; too terrified for your own life to go against their word. Imagine having your innocence literally ripped from you by some whore who's too wanton to imagine how you might be feeling about her as she tries to rip your clothes off."

He took a deep breath, shaking with anger, revulsion and self-loathing. "Imagine all that. Imagine wanting to come home more than anything in your life. Think of coming home, think of finding out that your father, whom you went to war for, is dead. Imagine feeling helpless. Imagine wanting to die... all over again." Susan moved to speak, and Peter held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. "You can't. You can't know... never. You learn to shut down on your emotions, Susan. And once your emotions are off, you can't put them back on. Think of it as a candle for which you only have one match. As that candle is lit, you have hope. But while the candle burns, so does your heart. And then... then there comes the death of the candle, like the death of a person. Swift, a simple _poof_. Imagine all of that, and then perhaps you'll understand me. Until then, don't you _dare_ preach to me about pain."

Susan could only watch, stunned, as Peter turned away from her, and strode off.

**A/N: Okay, what do you think? Love it? Hate it? Let me know!**


	14. All That's Done Is Forgiven

**Dust to Dust**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, or Peter... which is probably a good thing!**

**A/N: okay... thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the last!**

**Chapter Thirteen **

I thought she might understand. I _hoped_ she might understand. As my sister, she should. As my best friend, she should. But she doesn't. She never will... yesterday proved that to me. I can't believe she took me to see his... I can't even _write_ it. What was she trying to do? Completely destroy me? What she doesn't know is that there's really nothing left _to_ destroy; anything that's good that I once had to be proud of is now gone, dust in the wind. There is nothing left of the old me; the Peter they've epitomised, remembered and loved. _That_ version of me is gone.

All that's left is this... shell.

There is nothing in life, if one cannot find the means to live. Life becomes simply a burden, nothing more. Living day to day, moment to moment, simply drifting your way throughout conversations and thought, living just enough to fool those who knew you. Life is nothing. It is a living death, even worse than the sleepless death we all must eventually face.

The sleeping death will come to me; I will make sure of that. Time will drift by, and I will fade from existence. I long for that time, and wonder when it will finally be over. I know that my family wish it to be over, however much they try to convince me otherwise. There is nothing neither good nor courageous in immortality; those who want immortality must die to understand the necessity of death.

Am I making sense? I don't think so. But what does it matter? Who will read my words, written in despair, in darkness? No one. Who will care when I am gone? Will people weep, hold each other tight and think of the times I was alive? I do not know. Part of me does not care, _will not_ care.

I thought she would understand. By taking me to his grave she has dug mine. But she is young; only two years younger than I, but still young. Young enough to shrug off the burdens of war, pain, fear and death. Young enough to hope in something other than this hellish life we live.

Do I believe in something other than this? Do I? Do I believe in a God, a single entity that shapes our destinies? No, I do not think I do. How can someone believe in something like that, when they have seen so much death, so much pure _hatred_? And yet... if I do not believe in God, do I believe in Heaven? Hell? I suppose it does not matter, as I am not concerned with entering either. I merely wish to escape the clutches of the hell I am in now. The hell of existence. Of expectation; an expectation that I once thrived in, believed in, tried to outlast.

Now all that has faded. I don't care. I really don't. And that frightens me. What is a person without their purpose? Are they simply... what does that make my existence? Pointless? I don't know... I do not understand anymore. There is nothing... nothing left for me. I thought perhaps my family would be happy to see me if I survived, but I see it in their faces. They are disappointed. They were ready to move on; accept that I was dead... how I wish I _had_ died. But they won't understand that.

Susan... my dear sister, who tried to pull me out of my... acceptance, for I know that is what it is, has only succeeded in making me sink deeper into despair.

Edmund, whose jokes and implications, remembrances of father, mother, how things used to be, simply tear my heart apart piece by piece till I am left gasping for breath, pleading for it to end. Oh he stopped me once, but he will not again... I swear. I swear on Aslan, on my sword Rhordan which lies somewhere in the ruins of Cair Paravel.

Mother... whose love has pulled me through, but whose faith has made me despair once more. Her shrill acceptance of what she'd thought was my death is all too painful; each time she looks at me, I see that stab of fear in her eyes, and it stabs me right back... in the heart.

Lucy... sweet, innocent Lucy. Since I... slapped her, has been wary, and that breaks my heart. I know it is my fault... yet I cannot bear to cause her more pain.

Can a heart continue to break once it has stopped beating? How much can a dying heart take once the first crack has been made?

No, I must end this. I must. I am the only one left, now. The only one who can end what I am doing. Perhaps... perhaps there is a way. Perhaps there is away to stall them, to keep them away long enough.

Perhaps.

But how to rid the world of my hate, my pain, my suffering? There are too many beings out there who suffer; too many cries of pain that muffle my own. It is time, it is time I ended it... all of it.

There is only one way. The way that I made that first, decisive choice. That same way that I first ended someone's life that I had no right to take. It feels cold in my hand. So cold... but so warm. Welcoming. Whispering words of darkness to me. Yes... I will follow. Take me to your dark world of oblivion. My life is over; I have nothing left to give.

Susan... Edmund... Lucy... Mother... please, do not blame yourselves. I will always love you; please remember you always came first in my life... but now, it is time I let my own desires heed their call. Will you be able to forgive me for trying again? I don't know. Just know that all that's done is forgiven. I never blamed you, any of you. And I'm sorry, so sorry it had to end this way, but I cannot fight any longer. I'm sorry.

So goodbye, goodbye.

A single shot, my redemption, my final bow. I fall into darkness, where you cannot follow.

Goodbye.

**A/N: alright, please don't kill me. Pretty please? Let me know what you think of the chapter, at least, before you do! There might be an epilogue, I don't know. But yeah, reviews are always welcome :) **


	15. Epilogue: Glimpse of the Past

**Dust to Dust **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. Everything belongs to CS Lewis!  
A/N: Thanks to my fabulous reviewers – you guys are awesome! I'm sorry, but yes, I did kill Peter off, though at one point I was sorely tempted to redeem him. Anyway... here is the last chapter of the Fanfiction, so I hope you like it (not sure whether 'enjoy' is the right word!!) let me know what you think! There may be a sequel on the way, but let me know whether this is a good idea or not...**

**Epilogue **

A high pitched scream shattered the peaceful calm of the night, and three people started from their slumber. Edmund was the first out of the room, followed quickly by Susan. They were half way down the stairs, exchanging looks of terror when their mother burst from her own bedroom, making following them downstairs, pushing them out of the way and to the sound of the scream. They lost sight of her as she moved into the kitchen, and heard yet another piercing scream echo around the house, followed by a low moan and sobbing.

Susan pushed Edmund past as she ran into the kitchen, her eyes darting everywhere; finally settling onto the prone figure on the floor, a gun in one hand. Her mouth opened, but unlike her sister and mother, who were both now sobbing hysterically, no sound came out. She moved forward, feeling bile rise in her throat as she saw blood trickling from his forehead. She knelt next to her brother, stroking his forehead – plastered with blood – gently, too in shock to cry. She looked up as Edmund finally made his own entrance, watching him take in the scene. "He's gone, Ed..." Susan swallowed, trying desperately to hold in her pain. "He's gone..." she moved Peter's hair out of his face, trying to take in what was happening.

She saw Edmund fall to his knees out of the corner of his eye, as Lucy crawled over to her one living brother. The older of the two pulled his sister into his arms, rocking her gently as he tried not to break down himself. Susan remained where she was, gathering Peter's limp form in her arms – not caring about the blood – and cradling him gently. "I'm sorry, Peter..." she whispered, tears slowly falling. "I'm so sorry..."

Their mother could only stare in shocked silence at the remains of her eldest son.

------

Susan started from her sleep, closing her eyes the minute she opened them, nausea threatening to overwhelm her. It had been two weeks since Peter had committed suicide; and each morning still felt like hell as she woke to realise the dreadful truth of the situation once more. She shuddered. Today was his funeral; the time where she was meant to finally say goodbye... properly. Yet... she shook the thoughts away.

Somehow not an inch of this seemed right. Peter was a _King_, for God's sake. Maybe not in this world, but surely he needed the recognition all the same? Surely Aslan wasn't so cruel as to deny his High King that simple thing? She shook her head. Narnia was fading slowly from her memory, although she tried to hold onto it. She sighed softly, wincing at a small knock on the door. "Su?" Edmund's voice broke her out of her reverie.

"I'm awake," she said softly. "I'll be ready in a minute..."

------

Staring around the church, Edmund felt bile rise in his throat. This was all... _wrong_. This was not what Peter would have wanted, he knew that. He knew because Peter had told him. It had been one of the many talks they'd had in Narnia... in fact, the first of many.

_**Flashback**_

"_Ed?" Edmund looked up, seeing Peter standing just outside the open flap of his tent. He gave a small smile._

"_Hey Pete..." he waved his brother inside, and could've sworn that Peter hesitated before taking a step in, shoving his hands in his pockets. Regarding his brother, Edmund noticed the air in which Peter carried himself. He seemed... unsure somehow. "Everything okay?" the younger of the two asked with a frown._

"_Ed... there... there's a chance I might not make it out of this battle." Peter seemed to have trouble finding the right words, making Edmund freeze in what he was doing and face his brother full on, regarding him critically._

"_Of course you will, don't be-"_

"_Ed, please. This isn't... this isn't chess! You can't just pick up the pieces again once they've fallen and put them back in their places." Peter took a deep breath, and Edmund started, realising that his brother was, indeed, afraid, something that was shocking. "I... I just want you to promise me something, okay? I need you to tell me that you will look after Susan and Lu if... when the battle ends, if I don't... and I need you to tell mum... and dad... and... I just need you to look after them, okay?" Edmund nodded quietly, his brother's seriousness shocking him into near silence. "And please... don't le them bury me. I couldn't bear it... decaying over time like that..."_

"_Peter, please, can't we talk-" but once again Peter interrupted._

"_Please Ed, this is important. Promise me, okay? Promise me you won't let them trap me?" His eyes held a silent begging plea that Edmund could not simply toss aside. He gave a small sigh and moved over to Peter, hugging his brother tightly._

"_I'll promise. But I know I won't need to keep to it, because nothing is going to happen to you." Peter held Edmund for a moment, before releasing him._

"_Thanks, Ed..." he managed a small smile, his fear still clear to see. The younger of the two managed a smile and a brisk, effective nod, trying to hide his troubled feelings._

"_No problem." Edmund frowned as Peter turned and left the tent, shaking his head. Peter's request had disquietened Edmund, but he knew that he would adhere to it, should the need arise..._

_End of flashback_

Looking at the coffin as it was brought out, Edmund could only feel a dull sense of guilt piling up in his body. Peter had asked him only one thing... and Edmund had failed him. He tried to tell himself that Peter would have understood; that Edmund himself had had no choice in the matter. It almost worked... almost. Until Edmund remembered the fear in his brother's eyes, the plea as he asked this one thing of him. Edmund knew that had it been the reversal, Peter would have done everything in his power to abide to Edmund's wishes. And that alone made Edmund feel low.

He turned to Susan, who had burst into tears at the sight of Peter's coffin, and put an arm around her. She snuggled into him, trembling. He cast a look over at his mother, who was sat stony-faced, trying not to cry, and he thought he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes. Lucy, poor Lucy, was weeping openly, harder than Susan, if that were possible, her head buried in her mother's lap, one hand tightly clutching Susan's free hand, the other curled around a handkerchief.

Closing his eyes against the sight of his brother's coffin, Edmund rocked Susan slowly, too numb to cry. "Who _are_ these people?" She asked fiercely, pulling back a little. "Peter didn't even _know_ this many people!!" Edmund swallowed, but had to agree with her. His brother had always been selective with his friends; plus the fact that he had been one of the 'intelligent' people – thus not too popular in their school. Not that Peter had cared for popularity. But now, it seemed as though his brother had become the most popular in the entire school. There were people Edmund didn't even _recognise_ here, and people... Edmund's blood began to boil and he struggled to hold back anger as he recognised people who had once treated Peter as though he were scum – going out of their way to humiliate him. Even in his bullying days, Edmund had never bullied _Peter_, and those that had had later heard from Edmund. "What are _they_ doing here?!" Susan hissed, head rising and staring at the people in question. Edmund sighed and realised she must have guessed his thoughts. He shrugged, casting an uneasy look with Lucy.

"Hush love," their mother's voice hissed, and they barely flinched at it. "It is good of them to come." Susan made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sniff, as though contemplating her mother's words with disgust.

"Peter would have a few things to say about this if he were here..." she whispered again, with such venom that their mother raised an eyebrow and shook her head, staring forward again blankly. Edmund had the feeling that she wasn't really listening to the service at all.

"This is wrong," he murmured. Susan nodded in agreement, her eyes roaming the guests. Seeing her look, Edmund shook his head. "No, I mean the whole funeral... not just the people here. Peter shouldn't be..." he trailed off.

"Cast aside as just another victim of suicide?" Susan's voice wobbled slightly at the word, and Edmund tightened his grip on her, nodding slightly.

"That too, but I mean... this shouldn't be treated as just some... _normal _procedure, it's as though no one really cares... and Peter didn't even _believe_ in God!" the words were spoken louder than they were meant to, and Helen glanced over at Edmund sharply. Being upset for their brother was all very well and good, but disturbing his funeral... she shook her head and leaned over slightly.

"Edmund, hold your tongue. Your brother was a God fearing person, as you know. This is _not_ the time or the place for this!" she turned her eyes back to the priest, and Edmund let out a snort, rolling his eyes at her and glancing at his sister.

Susan frowned, but shook her head, leaning against him and forcing back yet more tears as the priest began the funeral.

------

Several hours later, she stared at the gravestone of her older brother. It was nowhere near as grand as she'd have wanted it to be for him. Nowhere near enough for the brother, friend, lover, king that she'd known and looked up to. Susan read the inscription again, her mind blank to the words.

Peter Thomas Pevensie  
Beloved Brother and Son  
Born 1922: Died 1945  
R.I.P

That was it. It spoke nothing of the sacrifices that Peter had made, nothing of the person he once was, had always been. And that sickened Susan, more than anything. It sickened her to the point of throwing up that she would look at this stone and only feel cold acceptance. She didn't want to feel that. To Susan, she should feel... _inspired_ by such a person's death. She should feel... something. Not just emptiness. Tears slowly fell down her cheeks and she collapsed to her knees in front of the stone, running a finger over his name. "Why, Peter? Why?" She whispered, her grief giving way to anger. She began to slap her hand against the stone, as though she were slapping Peter himself. "W_hy?!"_ she began to scream. "Why did you leave us?! Why?!"

Fifteen minutes later – it could have been more, Susan wouldn't have cared – someone pulled her away from the headstone, clasping her in a firm grasp. She leant against the person, shaking, still screaming at her dead brother's grave. _"Why?! You're a coward, Peter Pevensie! I swear to God, if you can hear me, you are a _coward_ for leaving us like this!!!"_

"Susan, stop." Edmund's voice stopped her short, snapping her out of her reverie. She shook violently. "You're scaring Lucy." He added, and that seemed to pull her out of herself. She half collapsed in his arms, not protesting when he turned her to face him, gently pressing her head into his shoulder as she began to cry.

Lucy watched with wide eyes just behind her brother, trembling slightly. If Susan were losing it... what was to become of them? Susan was so strong normally... nothing could faze her, _nothing_. But then... but then Lucy had believed that nothing would faze Peter, and look what had happened to him. The little girl's world had been upside down, twisted into some macabre dream that she wished more than anything to wake up from, to find Peter alive, and Susan her usual practical self, and even Edmund... perhaps he could be irritating again, just as long as everything was normal. Just as long as she knew what was happening.

"You can't blame him, Su..." Edmund said quietly, stroking Susan's hair as she sobbed. "Everything was different for him when he came back... he couldn't cope with the change, you know that. I know its hard, but we'll get through this."

"I'm afraid I'll forget him, Ed..." Susan admitted in a small whisper, and Edmund shook his head.

"No, no you won't. None of us will..." He said firmly, marvelling at the fact that she was leaning on him, instead of rebuking him. That was good. He didn't know what he'd do if she turned away from him, if she or Lucy suddenly stopped talking to him. For some reason he found himself taking on Peter's roll, but didn't say anything, because right now that was what they needed...

"How can you be sure?" Susan whispered, sniffing back more tears and pulling back slightly, watching Edmund's face, searching for answers.

"I just know..." he replied firmly. "Trust me, we won't forget Pete..." he promised her. He held an arm out to Lucy, who ran into the embrace without hesitation. They stood like that for a few moments, simply comforting each other, and once again Edmund was able to appreciate how things had changed between them since Narnia. Before Narnia, they'd never be seen doing this. He definitely wouldn't have been seen comforting them, not if he could help it. "Where's mother?" he asked quietly, after a few minutes silence.

"She's talking to one of the women..." Lucy mumbled against his shirt, and he nodded, glancing at Peter's name on the stone. "Pete's old teacher for maths or something..." they sighed softly.

"This doesn't feel real." Susan said quietly. Edmund nodded in silent agreement.

"At least he's at peace now... at least, I hope he is." Lucy spoke, her voice laced with uncertainty. Edmund couldn't be sure, but she sounded smaller than normal; frail somehow. He unconsciously drew her nearer, kissing her forehead.

"I'm sure Peter's happy now..." he said quietly.

------

July 23rd 1947

Two years later, Lucy Pevensie made her way across the graveyard to where her brother lay. Finally reaching it, she knelt down, placing the daisies she held next to it. She bit her lip, forcing back tears as she ran a hand over the stone. Once so smooth and white, it was now becoming jagged and grey, due to the cold winds and extreme rain they'd had.

"I miss you, Peter..." she whispered with a small sob. "I still love you..."

"We all do." She jumped; having not heard anyone approach, and turned to see Susan and Edmund there. Susan knelt down next to Lucy, feeling Edmund put a hand on her shoulder. "We all miss you, Peter..." she touched the stone, almost reverently.

Lucy gave a tiny smile. Slightly annoyed that her brother and sister had interrupted her moment alone with her brother, she was, however, glad, as she'd not been looking forward to doing this alone. After two years it was still hard to be without Peter, but little by little, the pain was slowly ebbing away. She no longer expected him to come through the doorway with a grin on his face, no longer expected to see him reading in his room, and she supposed that was all part of the healing process.

Susan watched her sister, and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. For her part, Peter's death had been torture. She had blamed herself, then him, then finally tried to forget her brother completely, before slowly coming round to the idea that he might be in a happier place than where he would have been. She no longer had the nightmares; Edmund no longer had to come running into the room to comfort her after another dream about Peter dying, Lucy no longer had to hear the sobs echoing throughout the house.

Edmund watched his two sisters, silent. He'd known without knowing (if that made sense) what their plan would be for today, for, without even really mentioning it, the three remaining siblings had automatically realised what day it was, and realised that it was indeed a very important day for them all. They had all wanted to honour that day in some way, and Edmund's first thought had been a trip to the graveyard, though he'd been hoping to spend a few moments with Peter alone, as, apparently, they all had.

After what seemed like an age (but in reality was probably only a few minutes), Susan, Edmund and Lucy rose from where they knelt, brushing a hand against the marble of their brother's grave, murmuring words of remembrance. They wordlessly hugged each other. No one cried; they were past that stage now, their silence being the preferred method of grief for each one of them.

Susan and Lucy broke apart from Edmund, giving him a questioning look. He shook his head. "You two go on ahead; I'll be with you in a moment." After another brief hug, they nodded and moved off, Susan's arm wrapped around her sister's shoulder. Edmund lingered, staring at the name carved in stone. The words he was about to speak were killing him; but he felt he had to say something, had to give some explanation.

Eventually, Edmund spoke. "We're sorry, Pete... but we have to move on... it's the only way." He said softly. "We still love you, we still miss you, but we have to move on. I hope you can understand." He placed a hand on the grave before glancing one last time at the words carved in stone. He sighed softly. "You would've been twenty-five yesterday..." Edmund said, with sadness. He gave one last look to the turned and moved away, leaving to follow his sisters back to their house.

If he'd had looked back, if any of them had looked back, they might have seen it. A brief flicker of a figure, standing next to his own grave, perhaps a trick of the light if it hadn't been for the words flittering on the breeze. "It's alright, Ed... I understand... I love you all..." before he was gone, just a glimpse of the past.

**A/N: Thanks to my fabulous reviewers – you guys are awesome! I'm sorry, but yes, I did kill Peter off, though at one point I was sorely tempted to redeem him. Anyway... here is the last chapter of the Fanfiction, so I hope you like it (not sure whether 'enjoy' is the right word!!) Let me know what you think! There may be a sequel on the way, of how the Pevensie's cope without Peter, but let me know whether this is a good idea or not... it all depends on what you think!!  
p.s. Yes, I did actually have to work out Peter's dying date etc... (This is based on the idea that Peter is about 18 in the film, thus 19 when he goes to war... so hopefully I'm about right there :) lol) I worked this out at about 4.30am so who knows! Lol. **


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